


This Is Your Life, Sam Winchester

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M, Memory Loss, Redemption, Soulless Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 06:40:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7628926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's wall is broken, and the damage is done. The only fix now is to wipe his memory of everything that has happened to him, and everything related to the supernatural. Unfortunately for Sam, that's most of his entire life. </p><p>Now that it's safe to do so, his friends try to reintroduce Sam to who he is. But Sam realizes little by little that he doesn't want to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr prompt fill.

He was running.

What had he just done? What had he just seen?

He ran, long legs carrying him through a filthy alley. He heard sirens behind him. Sirens. Because he had knocked out that cop. The sirens were after him.

Siren? “Bronze knife and blood of the victim…”

“What you talking about?” a man demanded as he stumbled past.

He turned to stare at the man. “Do you know me?”

The man scoffed. “No. Don't nobody know nobody ‘round here. You live longer.”

He nodded, as though that made sense, but it didn't. He continued, walking quickly instead of running, because he suddenly realized he didn't know where he was going. He pushed his way into a door, panting. A bar. Why was he in a bar?

A woman turned on him. “Hey! Closed!”

“Clothes,” he murmured. “I don't know if I have any other clothes.”

She stared at him. “No, I said we’re closed.”

He nodded, glancing out the window. “No, I know. Just, please, give me a minute.”

The sirens blew by, and he ducked in. The woman was frowning at him. “Look, pal. I don't need any trouble. Okay?”

“No. No, I'm not...I think I punched a cop.”

“What?”

“It was just a reflex! Who does that?”

“Who are you?”

He looked up again. “Who do you think I am?”

A brown eyebrow arched. “The guy about to get tire-ironed if he doesn't get out of my bar.”

“No, I'm sorry. I get it. I just needed to catch my breath. I don't know what's going on…”

She sighed. “What'd you take?”

“What?”

“You're lit. What are you on, buddy?”

“N-nothing. Nothing, I think. I'm just-I don't remember anything.” He clawed at his hair in frustration. “I just need a minute. Then I'll be fine.”

The bartender smirked. “Will you, boy?”

He flinched at the words, and a sudden migraine pierced his right eye. “I don't sleep…” he breathed.

“You should try it. And I'm going to get some sleep myself. So get out.”

Ten minutes later, he was wandering again, blinking hard at road signs and addresses, trying to make something look familiar. He reached into his pocket, and drew out something curious. “A key card?” His eyes lit up. “A hotel key card!”

It took nearly an hour to find the motel his key was for. And opening the door to his room didn't help much. It was nearly empty, except for a duffle bag on the bed. At least there were clothes.

He cleaned up in the bathroom and changed into clean threads. Then he looked around in earnest. At last, he found a wallet in a pocket of the bag.

“Sam Perry. Okay. That's my picture. It matches the one in the mirror. So I'm Sam Perry. It's a start.” He sighed. “And I knocked out a cop. So there's that. What the hell kind of person has that as his first memory?”

After another moment of sifting through things, he had another question.

“What kind of person travels with just a bag, a gun and a wicked knife?”

He wasn't expecting an answer. “You do, Sam.”

Sam whirled, and found himself aiming the gun with both hands at a dark-haired woman with a red smirk on her round face. “Who-who are you? Who am I? How do I know you?”

She watched him with amusement. “I'm nobody you need that gun for, Sam. And definitely not that pretty knife of yours either. I'm a friend.”

He was breathing too shallowly now. “You don't...feel like a friend.”

The woman snorted. “Maybe friend is a strong word…”

“Enough, Meg.”

Sam whipped around again and found another man standing inside his closed and locked room. “What the hell do you want? I don't have any money-”

“Nice job with his noodle, Clarence,” she scoffed. “He's practically not a psycho anymore.”

Sam turned to stare at her, and in that moment, Clarence disarmed him as quick as a blink. He scrambled backward and dropped hard onto the bed.

“Sam,” the man said gently. “I'm a friend. And I'm here to help you. Your brother is on his way.”

“Brother?” Sam felt a distant ache, as though this was supposed to mean something to him.

Meg gave a low whistle. “Whoa. Dug a little deep, didn't you? Take his ability to put on his own socks too?”

“I took what was necessary.”

“Dean know that?” she laughed.

“Dean.” Sam frowned in frustration. A memory stirred in his mind, flittering out of reach. “Dean? I haven't seen him since we were kids. He's coming here?”

Clarence sighed. “Meg, thank you for your help in tracking him. But it isn't necessary for you to-”

“To what? To hang out and play ‘This is your life?’ As hilarious as it already is, I've already played in his pretty little head, for like a week once, and it's all just a rerun for me. I'll be on lookout for the Limey bitch you let escape back when you were besties. Call me if you need me to jog his memory a little harder than any of you are man enough to do.”

Clarence sighed as she winked and disappeared from sight.

Sam gasped. “What the-”

“Sam. I'm so sorry it came to this.” He sighed again and sat at the motel table heavily. “I never wanted this. Not any of it.” He placed the weapon on the table, saftied and out of reach. “Sam, I hope you'll forgive me.”

“What did you do to me?”

Blue eyes looked back at him with a weariness that seemed ancient. “I broke you. I'm Castiel, and I have been your friend, but I'm afraid I put the greater mission over your well being, and it broke you. And the only way to fix things has been to wipe your memory of everything related to what has happened to you. Entirely.”

Sam watched him. Somehow, he seemed sincere. Somehow, even as he admitted to having hurt him, Sam felt he could trust him. “Clarence, can you start at the beginning?”

The man smiled sadly. “First, my name is Cas. Castiel. And I'm an angel of the Lord. Or I was. And you...you're one of the greatest hunters who has ever lived, along with your brother. And Heaven and Hell have done everything it can do to destroy you, and yet you've both emerged stronger from the ashes every time. Except this one. This time, you're broken and afraid, and your brother is sick with worry, and it's my fault.”

“I'm getting the feeling this is a really long story.”

Castiel sighed again.


	2. In the Beginning...

Castiel watched his friend sadly. He could only imagine what Dean would have to say when he arrived to find how much memory he had been forced to take from Sam. They had all agreed this was the plan. It was a horrible plan, but since it was really the only chance Sam had, it was the only course of action. 

Sam had gone to Hell to save the world, his brother and his friends. Castiel had descended into Hell and fought through the Horde to reach the Cage. It had not occurred to him that Lucifer or Michael might have Sam's soul clenched between their teeth at the time. In his shortsightedness, he had ripped Sam from the Cage, from his own soul, and set him upon the earth broken and wrong. 

It was only when he had seen how very wrong Sam was that he realized just how much he cared about the real Sam. He had admired the man's courage, his prowess as a warrior. But when he saw this hollow fighter, he realized the real Sam was so much more. This thing was certainly brave and lethal. But it lacked the selflessness and heart that he had come to respect and expect from Sam. Things he had come to love about him. 

And that was a shock to Castiel's worn out system. Once the idea had come to him, there was no denying it. He respected and admired Sam. But he also loved him, and that was as terrifying as it was indisputable. 

Saving Sam was the right thing to do. Castiel had not been able to resist the mad rescue attempt, to blast his way through Hell. So certainly he couldn't allow Raphael to restart the Apocalypse which had led to Sam's sacrifice in the first place. Castiel had become frenzied in his desperation to stop Raphael, and he had done the unthinkable. He had hurt Sam, the human whose sacrifice he had been frantic to preserve. The human he loved. 

Sam had realized very suddenly that he was severely hungry. Castiel had acquired food for him, moving as fast as his wings could carry him, in case this was a deception on Sam's part to enable him to run again. It was frustrating enough that Meg had needed to help him find the man the first time. He didn't want to tell Dean he had lost him again. 

But Sam was waiting for him, looking lost and worried, when he returned with nourishment. There was relief in his eyes when he saw that Castiel had returned. It flooded the angel with guilt. “You came back.”

“Of course I did, Sam.” 

Now he was watching the man eat, and he knew he was expected to talk, and he had no idea what to say. 

He took a deep breath. “Sam? You wanted me to begin at the beginning. By-by which I presume you mean your beginning, and not mine, because I'm very old, and…” He was babbling. 

Hazel eyes looked up at him with shame Castiel didn't understand. “You've got something very bad to tell me. And since you already said some of this is your fault, it isn't that you're afraid to say. I'm a bad person. I can tell. So go ahead and tell me how bad.”

His own eyes widened, and he felt his vessel’s heart-his own heart now that Jimmy was gone-dropping mercilessly. “No, Sam.” He sat at the table beside his friend and heaved a sigh. He found himself smiling through his cringe. “No, my friend. You are not a bad person. You're a very good person. The best I know. The best I've ever known. Your brother will tell you the same. Even the demon, that complicated creature, will say so, though probably in a most uncomplimentary way.”

“Demon?” he hissed. 

Castiel smiled sadly. “Yes. That female, Meg. She is a demon in redemption. I hope.”

“Why are we friends with a demon?” he demanded. 

It worried Castiel how easily Sam had accepted the news that Meg was a demon and he himself was an angel. He feared perhaps he had not removed enough of Sam's memory, if the existence of supernatural creatures did not faze him. “She is a singular demon,” he admitted. “I've become fond of her, and she has certainly proven herself to be a member of the team, including betraying her own kind for our sakes.”

Sam shook his head. “Fine. We can come back to that. It sure doesn't make your case that I'm not a truly horrible person, though.”

The angel did not respond. 

“So? What? Who am I? And why is Dean coming? I remember having a brother, Dean, when I was really little. Like...like Santa Claus little. But...but I haven't seen him since...How the hell old am I?”

Castiel considered.

Sam rolled his eyes. “That? That shouldn't be the hard question.”

“It shouldn't be,” Castiel agreed. “But you were about twenty-three when you died the first time, and then your time spent in Hell is incalculable, so, that makes it…”

“In Hell? In-in Hell?” Sam shrieked. “I'm not a bad person, but I'm an ex-con from Hell?”

“You're a good person who went to Hell to save the world!” Castiel snapped suddenly. 

Sam stared at him. 

The angel growled in frustration. “Sam, stop. Just...let me tell your story in chronological order, from the time you were six months old. With...with a bit of an interlude regarding your mother’s ten year contract from before your conception. Your timeline is very messy, Sam. Please don't interrupt.”

The man snorted, but stayed quiet. 

So Castiel began, from the beginning this time, and he told the tale as accurately as he could. The memories couldn't hurt Sam now. At least...they couldn't kill him now. 

By the time he had caught Sam up, the man was staring at him in horror, and he knew at once that he had failed. Again. 

He sighed miserably. “Sam, I'm so sorry if I've neglected to convey-”

“You've conveyed,” Sam snapped back. “You've definitely conveyed. Thanks for the ride out of Hell. I think I'd like to be alone now. Tell Dean not to bother coming here. I'll be gone by the time he gets here.” He stood to begin throwing his things back into his bag. 

Castiel's heart ached. “Sam, please. You're upset with me, and I understand that, but-”

The large man whirled on him. “With you! With you? You're a freaking angel. I'm a guy who grew up learning to kill things because they're different from me, and apparently that includes angels! I was created to be a vessel for Satan! I'm a college dropout who let my own brother go to Hell for me, when I got myself stabbed in the freaking back because I played a Battle Royale game with a bunch of kids with demon blood running through their veins. And why did I do that? Oh. Because I've got demon blood. And I thanked my brother for bringing me back to life how? By activating my demon blood by drinking more demon blood. Because that makes perfect sense.”

“Sam-”

“I drank blood. I used it to kill demons. Because I'm a killer. Because I'm Satan’s house on Earth. Not because I'm a super-nice person. Because I'm the best killer.”

Castiel closed his eyes. “You're a fighter, Sam. And sometimes you had to kill in order to save innocent-”

“The last thing I clearly remember is asking Dean about freaking Santa Claus. And since then, you're telling me I've become this killer, this-this hunter! And that's the difference, isn't it? A fighter maybe has to kill to save people or to save himself. But I didn't just save people. I hunted things. I went out looking for things to kill. Why? Because I had to kill something. Because I had to kill something, so I picked bad things. That doesn't make me a hero. That makes me a killer who tries to control what he kills.” He zipped the bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Leave me alone.”

“I can't…” Castiel sighed heavily. “I promised Dean I wouldn't let you leave again. Not till he gets here.”

Sam lifted his hand to reveal his demon blade. “Get out of my way.”

Knowing that the knife held no danger for him did not prevent the gesture from hurting him at his deepest level. “You know,” he said quietly, “Dean once stabbed me with that very knife, right in the heart. It was at our first meeting. If I'd known the pain I would cause you both back then, perhaps I would have given him one that would have gotten the job done.” He held out his own hand. 

Sam stared down at the silver blade being offered. “What is it?”

“It's the only thing which can kill me. Aside from an archangel or millions of Leviathan souls, but I'm assuming you don't have those in your bag.”

The man lifted the blade and felt its weight in his own hand. “Cas,” he said very quietly, “why do I trust you? I mean...I don't know you. You tell me ridiculous stories. You hang out with a demon and two killers. And you admitted first thing that me being wiped clean was your fault. So why do I trust you?”

It was the first sign of hope this man had given him that Sam was still there somehow. He smiled sadly. “I don't know,” he confessed. “But you once told me, during a very bad time, that for what it was worth, you considered me one of you. Part of your family. And there is nothing more important to a Winchester than family. I didn't respond when you said that, Sam, but...but it meant everything to me. And that's why, in the end, I tried to make everything right again. It's why I came to you and Dean, in spite of our differences and Dean's anger. Because Sam Winchester believed in a broken, wayward angel. And if Sam believed, I had to believe. You think you're a killer, Sam. But you're an inspiration. You and your brother mean everything to me. And I will do anything to make things right between us.”

Sam watched him. “Then I guess I should too.” He flipped the knife around to hand it back. “You going to help me?”

He sighed with relief. “The first step is waiting for your brother, and sitting through his ranting lectures.”

His friend sighed too.


	3. And When Dean Got Home...

That Christmas had been lonely. He could remember bits of life since then, but they were all flashes of a black car, an older boy’s grin, a greasy baseball cap. Beyond those images, he could remember almost nothing. He had the impression of a few college classrooms, of feeling perpetually awkward and freakish among other students. And loneliness. Everything that wasn't that black car, that grin and that dirty cap was loneliness. And the only day he could clearly remember was a Christmas Eve spent lonely. 

Except for Dean. 

The man burst into the hotel room, eyes flashing in a fearsome scowl. He slammed the door behind him. 

Castiel had opened the door for him, but Sam got the distinct notion that he hadn't really wanted to. 

“Where is he-Sammy!”

Sam stared at him. He had thought seeing the man would bring something back. His heart fell. “You're Dean,” he mumbled. 

His supposed brother gaped at him, then turned those fierce eyes on Castiel. “The hell did you do to him?” he shrieked in a husky growl. 

Castiel stood his ground. “I did just as we agreed. I removed from his mind all knowledge of the supernatural world and his role in it.”

“But I'm his brother!”

“Yes. You're also inexorably entangled with every memory he had about the supernatural world! If I had left more of you, it wouldn't have been enough.”

Sam watched curiously as pain flashed across Dean's face. “It's-it's gone? All of it? Forever?”

“I'm sorry, Dean. It was the only way we didn't lose him entirely.”

Dean crashed down into the chair. “I know,” he rasped out. He pulled a trembling hand down his face. “It's just that I have lost him entirely. It'll be like when he was…” He closed his eyes. “Might be worse. He's got a soul. But we got no history.”

Sam had the surreal feeling that he was being mourned right before his eyes. “I remember you.”

The man looked up. 

“Just-just not...You were like eleven or something. I don't know how old. And-and you smiled at me a lot.”

Dean stared hard at him. “Bitch.”

Sam blinked. “What-what are you calling me a bitch for?” he demanded. 

A sad smile was his response. “You're supposed to say-Nevermind. Okay. It's safe to tell him things, right?”

Castiel heaved a sigh. “Yes. He is no longer in danger of the memories tearing him apart. But, Dean, they will no longer be memories. They'll be a story. Facts.”

Dean nodded. “I want time alone with my brother. I'm still so pissed with you I can't even look at you right now.”

The angel lowered his eyes. “Dean, I thought-”

“I know what you thought. I don't care.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

The older man looked back at him. “No what?”

“No. Don't make him leave. I remember a guy who hadn't hit middle school yet. You're as much a stranger as he is. I'm old enough to choose my own friends. This is apparently my hotel room. I say Cas can stay. You don't make decisions for me.”

Dean's lips parted in shock. “Sammy, I didn't mean-”

“It's Sam. Sammy sounds like a chubby twelve year old. I'm clearly not.”

Hurt splashed Dean's face. “Okay. Yeah. Okay, but, Sam, you gotta think. I'm a stranger to you, maybe, but you're not to me. Okay? I know everything about you.”

“You knew something about a guy. About your brother. I'm not that.”

Castiel cringed. “Sam-”

Dean looked as though he had been slapped across the face. But Sam continued. “I remember caring about you. I remember you took care of me sometimes. But we aren't kids, and I don't know you. If the plan is to be friends, you gotta know where we are starting. Brothers ain't it.”

Castiel cleared his throat. “Sam, I should check on Meg. She's trying to find out more about the Leviathans that I was telling you about before Dean arrived. I'll return. I promise. Please...please listen to your brother. Please.”

Sam nodded, and when he looked up again, the angel was gone. “That ever get not creepy? The appearing and disappearing thing?”

The older man shook his head, but clearly could not speak. For just an instant, he saw through the despair in those green eyes, and found the big brother who was trying not to answer questions on Christmas Eve. 

He sighed and sat too. “Look, man. It's weird for us both. I just don't want you thinking we're gonna be something we're not. I'm sorry about your brother. I can tell you cared about him. But honestly? I can't even figure out why.”

Intense protectiveness shone out of those eyes now. “Why? Why I care about you?”

“About him. Not me. I don't want to be that guy.”

At last, tears spilled over and traced tracks down Dean's cheeks. “Are you kidding me? My little brother was a hero. I've been trying to be him my whole life.” His voice cracked, and he took a gasping breath before continuing. “I didn't always know it. I thought...I thought Dad was who I was trying so hard to be. But my kid brother...He's the guy our dad should have been. The guy our dad could have been if he weren't so screwed up with grief.”

Sam looked down at his hands. “Did he wear a ball cap?”

Dean stared for a moment, then laughed, forcing a fresh stream of tears to fall. “No. No, that's Bobby. Uncle Bobby, we used to call him.”

“Uncle Bobby. Yeah. I remember that.”

“Yeah. He's gone. They both are.”

Sam nodded. “I'm sorry. Was that my fault too?”

Dean blinked. “What? No! Sam, I don't know what that crazy halo told you, but you need to hear the real story, okay? Look. Let me...I'm going to shower. Okay? Then I'm going to come in and tell you the story of Sam Winchester. And then I'm taking you to a damn bookstore, and you're gonna read about him.”

“Read about...Those books Cas talked about are real? He called them gospels! I didn't-”

Dean threw his hands up and stood to stomp toward the bathroom. “Damn winged bastards. Give me time to get my thoughts right. I'm not the storytelling kind.”

A wave of affection washed over Sam then, and he smiled. “No. You never were. But you tried when I asked.”

Haunted eyes looked back at him. Dean sighed heavily. “You aren't running, right? I can wash some blood and dust off me, and you aren't going to take off. Right?”

“I'll be here,” Sam promised. “Whoever I was before, I think I owe you that.”

“You don't owe me nothing, little brother,” he responded in a hoarse, intense tone. “Not me. No matter what happens...we're good. Okay? Always.”

Sam nodded again. “I'll be here.”

The door had barely closed before Sam had company again. 

He frowned. “Hello. Demon.”

Meg smiled at him, and she blew him a kiss. “Poor little Sam. So many scary thoughts and feelings in a big, empty moose head. Where's the overbearing codependent brother? And the hot angel?”

Sam let an eyebrow quirk. “Cas went looking for you. Dean's in the shower.”

She shrugged and lay out on Sam’s bed like a cat. “I came to help, Sam.”

“I bet you did.”

“I did!” she insisted. “See, that angel who’s in love with you? And that brother of yours who thinks you're perfect? They don't know your squishy bits like I do.”

Horror came over him then. “Are we-Did we-”

“Don't get excited, dummy. You wanted to, back when I was a cute blond, but I have higher standards than that.”

He scowled at her. 

“No, I possessed you, genius. And so I've got the most intimate picture of the real Sam you're going to get. So I was thinking. What will that infatuated angel and that biased big brother tell you about yourself? And if there's anything I remember about my time in that shaggy head of yours, it's that you don't like being lied to.”

It felt as though his blood were turning to ice in his veins. He swallowed hard. “No. I don't. You think you know the real story?”

“I know I do,” she purred. “Sam, you want the nice truth, ask the ones who love you. You want the hard truth? Ask a demon. The question is whether you want to know the real Sam.”

“And what do you get out of it?”

She smiled. “Like it or not, Winchester, I'm on your team. Enemy of my enemy. Friend of my pizza man, that sort of thing. And your brother has a habit of trying to keep people's memories from them, and therefore keep their power from them. A full throttle angel and a less helpless moose are pluses in my book. So I'll fill in a few gaps for you, and maybe we all stand a chance when the world ends again. Kay?”

He waited. 

“And it'll be funny to watch you find out all the destruction you've caused.”

Sam glared at her. “Let's do it.”

Meg grinned, and reached out her hand to touch Sam's forehead.


	4. Of Love and Darkness

By the time Dean came out of the bathroom dressed in the same clothes but cleaner, Meg had winked and flitted away, and Sam was stripping his weapon to clean it on the desk.

Dean watched him. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

“I'm ready to hear my story.”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “Okay. I tried to think of a million things to tell you. But Cas would've told you the bit about you jumping into Hell with two psycho archangels, to save the freaking world. And if you still don't get why my kid brother is a hero after that...The big stuff ain't going to make any difference to you.”

“I literally drank demon blood, Dean. That's so far along the monster spectrum that I can't even believe-”

“Okay,” Dean interrupted. “Okay. I get that. I wasn't a fan myself. But you got the job done. And anyway, I got other stories. Things the halo wouldn't have thought to tell you.”

Sam nodded and focused his hands on his work. “Okay. Like what?”

Dean approached him as though he were afraid he might run if he moved too suddenly. “Sam, I'm not saying mistakes weren't made. All right? Mistakes were definitely made. But when I tell you my brother is my hero, you gotta know what that means. I need you, man. If we can't be what we were…” He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “If we just can't, fine. I'll take you however I can. Because I do know you.”

Sam was silent.

“You aren't the kid I raised. I get that. But-but I did raise you. Dad was...He tried, Sammy. He really did. But it was you and me against the world. Always. Even when it was you and me against each other. Just like…” He huffed a laugh, and tears sparkled in his eyes. “Those winged asshats you threw into the pit? Cas burned one up with holy fire, and the other just turned to him and said nobody messes with his brother but him. He-he exploded Cas, but that's not the point.”

Sam snorted. “How weird are our lives that an exploding angel isn't the point of a story?”

Dean smirked. “You're gonna have to stop sounding like the old Sam if I'm going to treat you different,” he said quietly. “But that was us. We tore at each other's throat some days, but there was not a moment when we didn't have one another's backs.”

“Except when I let you get turned by a fang.”

“Dammit, Sammy, you were soulless at the time!” Then he stopped. “Wait. Did you say fang? You said fang. Not vampire. And you're...cleaning your gun.”

Sam nodded.

“Why are you…”

“Because we've got work to do. Jerk.” He smiled down at his weapon.

A breath was punched out of Dean. “Sam?”

He relied on the muscle memory to reassemble the gun, while looking up at his brother. Hope was pouring out of those eyes now, down his cheeks. Sam smiled. “It's Sammy. And I still want to hear your stories.”

***

“So Meg gave him a memory transplant?”

Castiel was nodding very slowly. “It seems he's been given the facts and the emotions he once associated with them. But they are still the facts as seen by Sam and interpreted by Meg while possessing him.”

Dean shook his head. “I'll take it. And there's none of the broken parts?”

“He's not showing any of the symptoms from before. He's not experiencing any of these things now. Only retaining them, like a-”

“Like a rewritten file,” Sam offered. “It still feels a little like it all happened to somebody else. Like watching a really intense movie and relating too much to the main characters.”

“And you're good? You feel-you feel good. Right?”

“Better than I can ever remember feeling. I don't know. It's like I can look at everything that's happened from an academic point of view now. See the big picture because it isn't happening to me. But I also still remember the way things felt. Like…” He looked at Castiel for a moment. “I was completely in love with you.”

Dean's eyes flicked toward the angel. There was no surprise there, only concern.

Castiel, on the other hand, was entirely stunned. “You-what?”

Sam moved on. “And you. I think about growing up with you, and hero worship is all I get.”

Dean flinched.

“Yeah, see, I knew you'd do that. You didn't want anybody looking up to you. But you knew I did, and it made you better, stronger. That's the best part of us, big brother. We made one another better, because we each knew the other was watching. And we kept one another human. I know all these things, and I remember what it felt like then. But I can be objective about it like I couldn't before. I can...I can forgive myself, all of us, for all the things that happened, because I know we all tried our best to do what was right.”

His brother stared at him. “That's...that's very healthy of you. I don't like it.”

Sam burst into laughter. “Get used to it.”

Castiel seemed to be having trouble breathing, which was odd since Sam knew he didn't truly breathe. “Sam, you said..But these are remembered emotions. Not-not...You remember feeling them, but you don't...feel them.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Know what? This calls for alcohol. I'm going to go do a supply run. We're going to need to hang out here for a while. Regroup a little. So I'm getting grub and Johnny Walker.”

The angel stumbled backward. “I-Let me. I can-”

Sam watched with amusement as Dean shoved him back toward Sam. “No. I said I'll get it. You stay and look after my beautiful mind brother.”

Terror filled those blue eyes. “Dean, I insist-”

The younger man smirked a little. Remembered fondness was creeping up on him as he watched the interaction passively.

“In the words of a dead angel, you don't get to insist anything. You're still on probation. Stay here. Watch over Sam. I'll be back soon. If Meg shows up, have her come find me. I need to…” He smiled sourly. “I guess I'm going to thank her.”

The door closed behind him.

Sam looked down at the angel. “To answer your question? I remember being in love with you,” he said without pretense. “And I remember feeling lonely. Should I have been, Castiel? Lonely?”

Castiel was staring with bright hope and regret. “No, Sam. If circumstances had been different...I would have loved you with everything I am. Was, I mean. Everything I was back when…” There came a heartbreaking choke that made him pause. He tried to continue hoarsely. “Back when you might have loved me.”

Sam’s decision was made. He stepped forward to close the gap between them, and touched Castiel's face gently. “Cas? If you had known?”

The angel’s eyes fluttered closed at the contact. “If I'd known, Sam, I would have let nothing in Heaven nor Hell come between us.”

“You flew to Hell to save me.”

“And I failed abominably.”

Sam laughed. “I've had worse first dates.”

Castiel's eyes narrowed with doubt now.

“Cas, I remember loving you. And I remember all the reasons I should love you. I already like you. Can we try it? I mean...the world is coming to an end again anyway, right? No reason not to try-”

Powerful arms engulfed him in a bear hug without any warning.

He laughed again, until urgent lips found his, and he felt himself melt a little inside the kiss he knew he had wanted for a very long time.

“Okay, Cas, okay. Let him breathe. First rule of dating the precious amnesiac. Let him breathe, pizzaman.”

They jumped apart, and Sam couldn't help a reflex to pull his demon blade.

Meg smirked at it. “So glad I gave you back your great respect for me.”

Sam scowled and replaced the blade out of sight. “I respect your ability to literally crawl inside my head.”

“So? Is Pinocchio a real boy again? Are we going back into the fight?”

His brother was out getting supplies to celebrate a win, and Sam had every intention of tormenting him by insisting upon those little stories of their childhood the moment they were alone again. His angel was watching him with breathless devotion, and he could tell they were heading somewhere beautiful and long overdue. There was even a demonic warrior there before him, who had reminded him of his love as well as his capacity for darkness, and he knew now that he needed both to get the job done.

Contentment he knew he had never felt before seeped into every part of him.

“Always,” he answered in determination. “I'll always keep fighting. Just try to stop me. This is my life. I'm Sam freaking Winchester."

Meg gave him a wicked grin.


End file.
